


all hail the outlaws

by ridethatcyclone, sonuvawitch



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridethatcyclone/pseuds/ridethatcyclone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonuvawitch/pseuds/sonuvawitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon-Divergence AU in which Sara Lance never boarded the Queen's Gambit and Oliver Queen never made it to the life raft. </p><p>Robert Queen becomes the Green Arrow when he's rescued, five years after the wreck of the Queen's Gambit. He vows to save his city, in honor of his son's memory. Six months later, a man in black arrives in Starling City. His name is Al Far-Is - he's an assassin, League-trained, and he's come back to this city to take revenge on the people that killed him.</p><p>Darker team arrow, set loosely in Earth-2 canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Al Far-Is parks his motorcycle in front of Queen Consolidated, tilting his chin up to regard the towering building through the helmet visor.

Five years. It feels like more. The building glitters in the harsh sun, and people bustle in and around it, going about their daily lives just as they always have. As if nothing has changed. Everything has changed. The last time he was here—

Al Far-Is had never been here. The man – the _boy_ – that had once looked upon this building is long dead.

On gargantuan screens across the square, Robert Queen looks confidently into the distance, green hood lay back upon his shoulders. He speaks, though Al Far-Is is too far from the speakers to hear his words. No doubt a rousing speech about how Queen plans to save the city. Al Far-Is resists the urge to scoff. This city is beyond saving.

Al Far-Is tears his eyes from the screen and looks to the road. He had come to this city for vengeance, and to achieve that…

He has work to do.

 

* * *

 

Robert steps off the stage, tugging at the neck of his suit. A suit made heavily of leather, plus the heat from the stage lights, and he’s practically boiling. Thea meets him just offstage, her foot tapping impatiently as she scrolls through an itinerary on her tablet.

“I should’ve worn a mask,” grumbles Robert as he reaches his daughter. She doesn’t reply save for the rise of one eyebrow. “Keep my identity as the Green Arrow a secret,” he elaborates. Thea snorts, finally looking up from her work.

“People don’t trust men in masks, dad,” she says, her voice taking on a haughty tone Robert distinctly dislikes. “Jay Garrick knows that, and look at how much Central City loves their Flash.” He frowns, but concedes her point. “Besides,” she continues, mouth twisting into a smirk, “The Green Arrow is the best thing to ever happen to our stock prices.”

“I just-“ starts Robert, but Thea holds up a hand, clicking the receiver on her ear and delving into a rapid-fire conversation with whoever is on the other line. Robert sighs, turning and heading for his dressing room.

He’s been back in Starling City barely six months, and it’s been nothing short of a whirlwind. Of course he’s happy to be home, happy to have his daughter back, even if Moira is in jail and Oliver is… Point is, he’s happy to be off of that forsaken island. But sometimes he wonders if donning the green hood is really the best choice. He feels a calling, a duty to protect this city, save it in whatever way he can from evils he’d had at least a small part in unleashing.

Sometimes, though, he feels more like a figurehead and less like a hero. Thea is at the head of that campaign, admittedly. She’s determined to use his title as whatever leverage she can to put Queen Consolidated at the top of everyone’s radar. She’d become the most cutthroat business woman he’s ever met, and he’s so proud of her, even if sometimes he wishes she could just be a normal girl. He supposes she lost that chance when the Queen’s Gambit sank and she lost her father and brother. Moira was still there for her but Moira was… Distant, at best. She’d taught Thea everything she knows, but kept the girl at arm’s length for fear of having one more person to lose. And now, with Moira in jail for the part she’d played in the failed Undertaking… It pains Robert to think of what Thea must have gone through while he was on Lian Yu.

At least he’s back now, he thinks, even if Oliver never will be. He closes his eyes against the onslaught of memories, of how he’d failed his son, but it doesn’t help. It never does.

He finishes changing and looks in the mirror at himself. He doesn’t look like a hero, and at this rate he doubts he ever will.

But he’d failed his son. He will _not_ fail this city.

 

* * *

 

Al Far-Is has a list. He needs three things in order for his plan to come to fruition: firstly, he needs a base of operations.

This is almost too easy to acquire. The Glades is all but abandoned after the plans to raze it to the ground were made public. He moves into an old foundry where he can operate in peace, without interference from either the authorities or any of the city’s criminal elements.

Secondly, he needs muscle. This is no one-man war he will be fighting. Mercenaries are hardly trustworthy, but then, Al Far-Is doesn’t trust anyone regardless. Calling his sworn sister is a last resort; he won’t involve the League if he can help it. He has a pair of arm dealers in mind to approach for this, but that has to be handled delicately. Men with guns and twitchy trigger fingers, he’s found, should always be approached with caution.

So he moves onto the third thing: he needs eyes. He needs every camera in the city working for him, and every camera in the city working against his enemies. The League had hardly had the newest computers, so he’s altogether unfamiliar with the technology. He needs an expert that can keep this city running exactly how he needs it. He needs a hacker. A damn good one.

It’s for this reason he finds himself climbing along a fire escape at four in the morning. Silently, he peers into a window, shakes his head. Next floor up, maybe. He’d gotten the building number, but doesn’t know which apartment specifically he’s looking for.

Two more floors before he finds the correct window. He jimmies the lock and slides the window up without any trouble, ducking into the small apartment. He looks around, keen eyes taking in everything. Not a single bit of technology with a chip in sight. The only phone is corded, which Al Far-Is has come to understand is no longer commonplace. There isn’t even a television. The apartment isn’t bare, by any means – it’s actually something of a mess; clothes strewn everywhere, dishes piling up in the sink, and a confusingly large amount of pez dispensers in a neat stack on an end table – but it’s suspiciously low-tech.

“Hey asshole,” snarls a feminine voice. Al Far-Is turns slightly, calmly regarding the petite woman standing in the doorway of what he assumes to be her bedroom, brandishing a baseball bat at him, “Give me one good reason not to bash your head in.”

She’s small, but he can tell from the look in her eyes that it’s no idle threat. From the dent in the metal bat, he guesses he wouldn’t even be the first person she’d used it on. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. A silver stud glints in her nose. She must’ve been sleeping. Keen ears, to hear him. He’s all but silent. Or perhaps she’d gotten up for a glass of water. Regardless, she’s wearing a loose, soft gray sweater and black pajama pants. His eyes dip to the bottom of her legs, where a soft red light is just visible beneath the hem of her pants.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he holds up a cellphone, tapping the speaker phone button.

“Go ahead,” he says, voice distorter dramatically lowering the pitch of his voice.

“Unlock sequence H-R-H,” squeaks a nervous sounding man on the other end, “Unlock code four nine four two seven. Jacobs authorizing.” With a click, the tracking anklet unlocks and falls from the woman’s leg, and Al Far-Is hangs up the phone. The woman’s mouth drops open and she toes at the tracker, then looks suspiciously back up at Al Far-Is.

“What’s the catch?” she asks, grip tightening on the bat.

“I need a hacker,” replies Al Far-Is, “I hear you’re one of the best. The paperwork is already beings sent through on your pardon, courtesy of Jacobs.” Her eyes narrow.

“That guy is a hardass that sent me to prison for three _totally unnecessary_ years just to make a point,” she says, “How in the hell did you convince him to just… Let me off the hook?”

“I suggested that hacking into the missile defense system was an accident,” he says dryly, “And when that didn’t work I broke his kneecaps.” The woman’s face scrunches up.

“Gross, but effective I guess,” she says, slowly lowering the bat, “What do you need a hacker for?”

“Irrelevant,” says Al Far-Is, “I need one. I need the best.” He’d read her file. _Desperate to prove herself_ , it had said. She would do anything to prove, to anyone that would listen, that she was the best. Easy sell. He doesn’t feel triumphant when she fully lowers the bat, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t feel anything.

She steps close to him and sticks out her hand. “That’s my middle name, ‘the best’,” she says, “… Well, actually, it’s Megan.”

“I’m Al Far-Is,” he says, making no move to take her hand. She falters, but instead of lowering her hand she just reaches out and pats him on the chest. He raises a brow.

“Felicity,” she replies, “Smoak. But you already knew that.”

 

* * *

 

Convincing the arms dealers takes slightly more time. Less kneecaps are broken, but there’s a reason Al Far-Is had gone to Felicity first. He needs her to prove to the men that siding with him would be beneficial to them.

Felicity sets up the meeting easily enough – she masks their IP or… something… and gets him in under the guise of a client looking to buy. The men set up a meet – noon in a warehouse near the docks. Al Far-Is arrives early, clocking all the exits and vantage points before retreating to the shadows to await the dealers. He mentally reviews their files – John and Andy Diggle. Brothers. They’d gone to war together, and come back together, selling illegally gained weapons to the highest bidder. Within two years they’d become a force to be reckoned with on the black market. John is the supplier; Andy is the dealer. Very little about their lives outside their profession is in their files, but that’s fine. Al Far-Is doesn’t care to know if they have lives outside of gun running.

The slight crunch of gravel under boots alerts him to their arrival. He turns and watches them approach. Andy doesn’t seem to see him, but John clocks him almost as soon as they come into view. Impressive. Al Far-Is steps out of the shadows and Andy lets out a low whistle.

“That’s quite the getup,” he says, “You know Halloween’s not for another two weeks, right?”

“You’re the buyer?” asks John, more to the point, “’Faris’?”

“Al Far-Is,” replies the assassin, sounding out each syllable clearly. “And I’m not here to buy. I have an offer.”

John’s eyes narrow. “No deal,” he says, grabbing Andy by the arm and starting to back away.

“You might wanna hear us out,” says Felicity, voice drifting out of the speaker clipped to Al Far-Is’s belt, “Seeing as how I just lined up buyers for your next _six_ shipments of weapons. Have you guys thought about expanding at all? You might want to consider it, to keep up with this demand."

“Who the hell is that?” growls John, fingers tightening on his brother’s arm. Andy’s hand twitches toward his side, where he no doubt has a gun hidden. Al Far-Is’s staff is leaned against a crate to his right, but he doubts he’ll need it.

“Felicity,” he answers, “You get used to her.”

“I heard that,” says Felicity, “And you guys should probably listen to my friend here. Not only am I apparently _awesome_ at the whole black market thing, he happens to be uniquely good at stealing things. This could be the start of a beautiful criminal enterprise, is what I’m saying.”

“And what do you want from us?” asks Andy, ignoring John’s muttered protests.

“Your help,” replies Al Far-Is, “I’m going to kill the people that killed me.”

 

* * *

 

“Robert Queen,” calls out a feminine voice. Robert turns, smiling at Sara as she approached. She smiles, before adopting a more stern expression. He’d never gotten to know Sara real well, since it was Laurel that Oliver had always been close with, but she’d always seemed like a sweet girl. He wonders what her mother thinks of her following in her footsteps, joining the force. “The Captain wants to speak with the Green Arrow,” she continues, “You’re not in trouble, but I am supposed to bring you in the squad car.”

“No problem, Sara,” says Robert, following her as she turns back towards her car, “How’s your sister doing?”

“She’s good,” answers Sara, cheeks dimpling as she smiles, “She’s undefeated this season.”

“No bad injuries?”

“Not so far,” says Sara, “She’s pretty good at what she does, even if mom and dad hate it.” She grins a little, opening the passenger door for him. “Thanks for agreeing to this, I know it’s probably not what you wanted to do today.”

“It’s not a problem,” says Robert, sliding into his seat. He waits for her to get into the driver’s seat before continuing. “What exactly does your mother wish to speak to me about?”

“Oh, probably just a threat or two,” she says, eyes sparkling as she pulls away from the curb, “You know how she feels about the ‘hero’ thing.”

“Hero,” chuckles Robert. “That’s not a title I’ll ever get used to.”

“Good,” replies Sara, “That’ll keep you honest.”

The rest of the drive they stay silent, Sara’s fingers tapping on the wheel along with the radio. At the station, it’s a pretty even split between the officers on which of them think Robert is doing something good and which of them think he’s a law-breaking vigilante. He gets as many nods and handshakes as he does muttered complaints and hooded glares. That’s fine; he doesn’t do this for approval. It helps, maybe, but he does this to save his city. His family.

Captain Lance meets him at the door to her office, offering a thin smile in welcoming. Robert nods, cordial, and takes the proffered seat across from her desk.

“May I ask what this is about, Captain?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Robert, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea here. I respect what you’re trying to do,” says Dinah, taking her own seat and crossing her legs. “I think it’s a matter best left to the police, but I understand your reasoning.” Robert quirks a brow, waiting for her to continue. She sighs, pinching her nose between her fingers. “The Commissioner wants an officer on you at all times. Well, no—he wants an officer on your team, more like. Good for public image.” The expression on her face tells him all he needs to know.

“He wants Sara on my team,” guesses Robert. Dinah nods, looking tired.

“I protested, but he insists it will do wonders for the public’s approval. Daughter of the police Captain, teaming up with the Green Arrow. A media hit.”

“I’ll refuse, if you want me to,” says Robert, “Though I do think Sara would be a valuable asset, if you’d allow it.”

Dinah’s eyes slide to the window into the rest of the precinct over Robert’s shoulder, where she can no doubt see her daughter hard at work.

“I don’t see how I can refuse,” she confesses. “She’d hate if I refused. And she’s a damn good officer, even if I wish she’d pick a slightly safer career.”

“Like mother like daughter,” says Robert, a faint smile ghosting across his face.

“So it seems,” says Dinah, laughing mirthlessly. “And my other daughter, she _does_ pick the safe career, and then decides it isn’t for her. Decides to take up boxing instead.” She puts her head in her hands. “Where in the world did I go wrong?”

Robert leans forward, and when he speaks his voice is low. “You should be proud of your girls,” he says, “… and happy that they are both still with you.” Dinah jerks at that, meeting his eyes apologetically.

“You’re right,” she admits. “Ask Sara. I know she’d be a good addition to your team. Just keep her out of the line of fire, would you?”

“I’ll do my best,” promises Robert, standing. He turns, watching Sara as she talks with one of her coworkers. “I’ll keep her safe,” he says, his mind already drifting to the child he’d failed.

“That’s all I ask,” Dinah replies, voice soft. 

 

* * *

 

Thea and Curtis are already at the home base in Queen Consolidated when Robert arrives with Sara. Thea turns from where she’s leaning over Curtis’s shoulder and smiles widely at Sara.

“Long time no see, stranger,” calls Thea, moving to give Sara a hug, “Welcome to the team.”

“Glad to be a part of it,” replies Sara, hugging Thea tight before letting go to take a look around the base. “Guess being a billionaire vigilante has its perks?”

“Something like that,” replies Robert, bemused.

“So where do we start?” asks Sara. She’d changed out of her officer blues and into something more casual, since now she’s, in only the most technical sense, working undercover.

“Small,” says Robert, at the same time Curtis jumps up, shouting “Bank heist!” Curtis pauses, realizing what he’d just done, and quickly apologizes, throwing himself back down into his seat.

“The bank on 22nd is being robbed,” he says, flustered, “They’re armed, but there’s only three of them and one of them’s carrying like, a bo staff. Which is so weird, right? Who even uses those things?”

“Curtis,” says Robert, tone a little chastising.

“Right, sorry—three robbers, two armed with firearms, bank on 22nd. Silent alarm was tripped - police are on their way, I’d give them fifteen minutes in this traffic.”

“Fifteen minutes,” repeats Robert, “No problem. We can take care of this in ten. You coming, Sara?” Sara’s face lights up.

“You want me in the bank with you?” she asks, practically buzzing with excitement. Robert smiles apologetically.

“I want you outside, ready to coordinate with any other law enforcement that arrives,” he says. Sara’s face falls, but she nods and checks the gun at her hip. “Curtis, you’re the eyes and ears. Thea—“

“Find a way to spin this,” cuts in Thea, grinning a predatory grin, “No worries. This’ll boost profits, guaranteed.”

“Alright,” says Robert, satisfied with how this team is coming together. “Let’s move out.”

 

* * *

 

This is _not_ going according to plan. Al Far-Is tightens his grip on his staff, jaw clenching and unclenching as John tries to reign in his brother. Andy’s a wildcard. They should’ve left him at the foundry. Their need for a more immediate cash flow than a few upcoming arms deals is overshadowed by their need to remain in the shadows, and Andy had gone and shot that all to hell. Felicity had caught the silent alarm the moment it was tripped, but even as good as she is she couldn’t stop the signal from reaching the police before she brought it down.

“Fifteen minutes, tops,” she says over the comms, “Less if the Green Arrow decides to show his face. So, you know, _hurry your asses._ ”

“Thanks, Felicity,” grumbles John, “That’s real helpful.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who—“

“Enough,” barks Al Far-Is, stalking toward Andy, “This is your mistake—fix it.” Andy seems to be resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but nods, hefting his gun up on his shoulder and grabbing a bank teller. He pulls the cowering man in the direction of the vault while Al Far-Is checks and double checks (and triple checks) their exits.

“He’s a hothead,” says John, “But he’s damn good at his job.”

“He better be,” replies Al Far-Is through gritted teeth, “Or I’ll put him in the ground.” John’s hand shoots for his gun, but before he can do much of anything the sound of glass shattering and a high pitched whistle pierces the air. Al Far-Is spins away from the sound by instinct, eyes catching an arrow embedded in the desk behind him. Mentally cursing, he brings his staff up in front of him, eyes scanning the rafters for the Green Arrow. For Robert Queen. His eyes land on the man himself, standing on the balcony a floor above them, illuminated by the sun streaming in behind him, through the now shattered window he must’ve broken to get in here.

The Green Arrow lets loose another three arrows, one of them finding itself embedded in John’s weapon. John drops the gun with a loud profanity, ducking behind a desk. Al Far-Is leaps into motion, vaulting himself over a desk and twisting mid-air, throwing two of the knives hidden in his sleeve at the Green Arrow. Neither hit their mark, but it does force the vigilante to duck back into cover and give John time to grab Andy and escape.

Their first goddamn mission, and already they’re falling apart.

The Green Arrow swivels back into view and Al Far-Is throws three more knives. This time, one finds purchase in the armor the Arrow wears. It doesn’t sink deep enough to draw blood, but even from a distance Al Far-Is can hear the Arrow grunt at the impact. As the Arrow draws his bowstring back to let loose another arrow, Al Far-Is catches movement in the corner of his eye and by instinct swings back. The _crack_ of a gun echoes throughout the bank and a sharp sting lances across Al Far-Is’s forearm. Just a graze, but the woman standing in the door of the bank holds her aim, taking another step toward him.

Sara Lance. Her finger curls once more around the trigger.

Al Far-Is doesn’t need a second warning. He throws down a flashbang, letting it cover his escape.

 

* * *

 

“Sara!” shouts Robert, voice gruff as he makes his way down from the balcony, “I thought I told you to _stay in the car_!”

Sara cocks an eyebrow, one hand resting on her hip. “Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen. Besides, that guy was no ordinary bank robber.” She turns, frowning at where the man in black had disappeared. “What was that he was wearing, anyway? He looked like a ninja.”

“A ninja that had been through a blender,” chimes in Curtis, “Seriously, he needs to get some new duds.”

“Certainly threw knives like a ninja,” mutters Robert, pulling the small blade embedded in his chest plate out with a grunt and examining it. It’s small, meant for easy concealment and quick air speed. Robert frowns at it, depositing it in a pouch at his side. He’ll have it dusted for fingerprints earlier. The man had been wearing gloves, but perhaps he’d handled it without them, or whomever he’d gotten the knives from had. It’s a long shot, but something about that man worries Robert greatly. Sara’s right; he’s no ordinary thief. “Curtis,” says Robert, and Curtis hums over the comms, “You got all that footage, right?”

“I got what I could,” says Curtis, “Someone hacked the system and did a serious number on the tapes. I blocked them to the best of my ability, but it’s gonna be a pretty rough recording.”

“Good enough,” says Robert, “If nothing else, that at least confirms that whoever this guy is, he’s got a techie of his own. That’s more than we knew five minutes ago.”

“And he’s damn good with throwing knives,” says Sara.

“Worryingly so,” agrees Robert.

“Dad,” comes Thea’s voice, laced with static on the comms, “I’ve got reporters lined up outside for you. You ready for your glamour shot?” Robert sighs.

“Ready as ever, I suppose,” he replies, straightening his hood and making sure the cut from the masked man’s knife isn’t glaringly obvious in its nature. Sara turns away, squinting at something.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she says, waving him forward. Robert shrugs, stepping outside the bank and into the flashing lights of the press. Sara moves further inside the bank, squinting at the ground. She’s sure she shot the bastard, surely he had to have bled _some_. Unless he isn’t human, she supposes. That’s not outside the realm of possibility.

After a few minutes of scouring the bank, Sara is empty handed. She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe he was wearing body armor. Maybe she’d missed him. Maybe he was like the Flash and just cleaned it up in the span of the second it took him to vanish. She can’t even seem to find the bullet anywhere. She rolls her eyes skyward. She’s beginning to develop a headache.

“A problem for another day, I guess,” she mutters, taking one last look around the bank before turning and following after Robert.

From the shadowy hallway that leads to the vault, Al Far-Is watches Sara Lance retreat into the light of day. He has one hand clamped tightly over the stinging wound on his arm. It’s barely even a scratch, but a single drop of blood and this could all get very messy, very quick. He had been foolish to think that Queen would work alone forever. Sara Lance was unexpected, but Al Far-Is can adapt. He opens his other hand, looking down at the bullet she’d shot at him. He’d pulled it from the stone as he’d made his escape. That had been far, far too close.

“Felicity,” he says into his comm, “Give me the rundown.”

“We got about half of what we were going for,” says Felicity, “Footage of you _may_ have made it into the Green Arrow’s hands, and also the entire city is going to be on high alert now, likely with your faces and/or masks plastered on wanted signs in literally every building. You might say this went _poorly._ ”

Al Far-Is doesn’t reply. He watches the door a moment longer, a cool breeze still blowing through it as it slowly swings shut. He turns, slinging his staff over his shoulder as he goes. Time for some damage control.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a monster of a verse that [Sarah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sonuvawitch/profile) and I have been lovingly obsessing over basically since the Earth-2 episode of the Flash aired. The doc with all our headcanons and plans for this fic is about 10 pages long, and it's not even finished. So. I have no idea how long this will be.
> 
> I went ahead and added all the tags for the ships that'll pop up in this fic. It's not a ship-centric fic, but I know that's info people like to have before committing to something lmao. The rest of the tags I'll add as needed.
> 
> As for what Al Far-Is's (come on, like you don't know who he is) uniform looks like - he wears a standard League uniform, but he doesn't really take care of it so it's all ripped and raggedy. He wears his hood, a mask over the lower half of his face, as most of the league does, and uses that grease paint he used in the first season over his eyes. Basically covering all his bases.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Also, feel free to come talk with me on [tumblr](http://saralancelot.tumblr.com/)!!


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy pushes the creaking metal door open, frowning in the dim lighting as he steps into the gym. “Laurel,” he calls, “You should really turn the lights up in here. It’s creepy.”

“Says the big bad ARGUS agent,” replies Laurel, turning from her place at the punching bag in the corner. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail and her skin glistens with sweat, but she smiles brightly at him as he steps close, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“How’s training?” asks Tommy, stepping back and taking a seat on the bench nearby. Laurel turns back to the bag, sending a few combos at it before turning, pushing sweat-soaked hair off her forehead.

“It’s training,” she replies with a shrug, “How’s the secret agent business?”

“Would be better with you,” says Tommy. Laurel laughs, shaking her head.

“You know I tried the hero thing, Tommy,” she says, “It didn’t fit. But I _love_ that you’re so dedicated to it. I do.”

“Mhm,” says Tommy. “There’s a new player on the scene. Can’t say much, but he’s another mask. Bad guy, though, I think.”

“You think?”

“He hasn’t killed anyone that we know of, yet,” he replies, scratching at his chin, “But he and his crew hit a bank today. Robert Queen stopped them.”

“A bank robber wearing a mask isn’t exactly newsworthy,” points out Laurel. Tommy grins.

“It is when he wields a bo staff and throwing knives.”

“Ooh,” says Laurel, sounding thoughtful, “I should learn how to use a bo staff.”

“You’re enough of a badass, I think,” replies Tommy, sounding aghast. Laurel laughs brightly. Tommy is silent for a long enough stretch that Laurel turns, looking at him with concern.

“Something wrong?” she asks. Tommy frowns.

“There’s one more thing, and I doubt you’re going to like it,” he says.

“Sara,” cuts in Laurel, turning and sending a few more punches into the bag, “She’s working with Robert.”

“You knew?”

“My mom called me earlier asking for advice,” she explains, focused on the bag, “I told her to let Sara help out the Arrow.” Tommy’s brows shoot up.

“You voted _for_ this?”

“I guess,” says Laurel, “The way I figured it, Sara was going to do her thing either way. Better she has all of us supporting her along the way.”

Tommy stands, stepping up behind Laurel and wrapping his arms around her midsection, grinning into her hair. She giggles, twirling and snaking her arms around his neck.

“You’re incredible,” says Tommy.

“And don’t you forget it,” replies Laurel with a wink, leaning in to kiss her fiancé.

 

* * *

 

Thea squints at the screen, a deep frown marring her features. “Can you play it again?” she asks. Curtis taps a few keys and the video rewinds, playing again. Thea watches with hawk-like eyes as the man in black swings out from behind a desk, throwing three knives in one fluid motion before the video ends in a rush of noise. Static flickers across the screen, making detail difficult to make out, but Thea’s determined. There has to be something here of use.

“You’ve been watching this for an hour,” says Curtis, “Don’t you want to take a break?”

“No,” says Thea, “This guy tried to _kill_ my _dad_. I’m going to find him.” She puts a hand on Curtis’s shoulder, smiling what she hopes is a sympathetic smile. “You can head home, though, Curtis. I’ve got it from here.” Curtis nods, pushing away from his desk.

“Don’t stay here all night, Thea,” he admonishes, “And make sure you eat, okay? For me? Maybe call in some backup at some point?” Thea smiles at him, this one genuine.

“Night, Curtis,” she says, taking his seat once he’d vacated it and pulling herself into the desk. She rewinds the video, tracking every pixel on the screen.

She’ll find this guy. She will.

Curtis steps into the elevator, turning to press the button. His eyes catch on Thea’s form, illuminated by the screen in front of her. He feels a sort of protectiveness over her, like she’s his little sister. He knows she can take care of herself; she’d proved that time and again. Still, he worries about her. He hopes this man in black is caught soon. He doesn’t want it to become an obsession of hers. The elevator doors slide shut, and Curtis sighs.

Thea watches the clip what feels like a hundred more times, but comes up with nothing. She groans in frustration, running a hand through her hair. This is useless. This guy’s crew was professional, they all wore their masks and didn’t let anything strongly define them. They never even fired their weapons, so there aren’t any shell casings to trace. The closest thing they have are the throwing knives from the man in black, but Sara had had the SCPD lab techs go over them with a fine toothed comb and they came up completely empty. They’re custom made, but no one seems to have any idea where they came from.

Maybe Curtis is right. Maybe Thea needs backup. She frowns, but sends a quick message to one of her business contacts that’d been raving about her private investigator. The response is nearly immediate, and Thea pulls out her phone, punching in the number and glancing at the clock. 8 a.m. She’d been at this all night. The phone rings four times before the call is picked up.

“Hello?” comes the sleep-rough voice.

“Roy Harper?” asks Thea, “My name is Thea Queen. I have a job for you.”

 

* * *

 

Roy has to admit, he isn’t sure about this job. He packs his bag, mentally debating the pros and cons of meeting Thea Queen - _the_ Thea Queen, daughter of the Green Arrow and one of the most cutthroat businesspeople in the country – to talk to her about hunting _another_ vigilante. A masked one, she’d said, though she hadn’t elaborated. She’d insisted he meet her at Queen Consolidated so they could speak in person.

Frankly, she makes him nervous. He’s seen her picture in the news, on TV, on billboards a hundred feet wide. She has a look about her, like she could tear anyone she wanted limb from limb with one quirk of her blood red lips.

Roy looks up, eyes catching on his muted TV. Speak of the devil. Thea Queen is on the screen, smiling into the camera. Nothing about that smile suggests that she’s happy, or even kind, but damn it all if it doesn’t draw your eye. She’s speaking, but Roy doesn’t have the closed captions on. He just watches. She’s hypnotic, in a way. Even the reporter seems to think so, the woman seeming dazed by Queen’s very presence.

Roy shoulders his bag, turning off the TV as he heads out the door.

The drive to Queen Consolidated is short. The elevator ride to Thea Queen’s office, somehow, feels much longer.

Stepping out of the elevator, Roy smooths his palms down on his jeans uncomfortably. He steps up to the receptionist’s desk, smiling awkwardly at the woman.

“I’m Roy Harper,” he says, “Here to see Thea Queen?”

“You can go right in,” replies the receptionist, not looking up from her computer screen. Roy nods, a little awkwardly, and turns, stepping into Thea Queen’s office.

The office is breathtaking. Glass walls all around, and decorated sparsely but with style. The most breathtaking sight in the office, however, is Thea Queen herself, standing and meeting Roy with a smile, holding out a hand. He clasps it, hoping his own hand isn’t sweaty or something.

“You must be Roy. Thea Queen,” she says, her handshake firm. She sits, gesturing to the seat across the desk. Roy takes it, nodding his thanks.

“You said something on the phone about a new vigilante?” asks Roy. Might as well get straight to business. He doesn’t get the sense that Queen is much of a small talk person.

“I did,” she says, spinning her monitor so he can see the video she has pulled up. She hits the play button and he watches as a man in what looks like a… tunic? robs a bank, throwing knives at the Green Arrow when he arrives.

“Um,” says Roy, “That’s new.”

“Yes,” says Thea, eyes narrow as she rewinds and watches the video again, “That’s one way to put it.”

“What… Exactly am I supposed to do about a guy with, um, throwing knives?” asks Roy. He knew he shouldn’t have taken this job.

“I just want you to find out what you can,” says Thea, “No need to put yourself in unnecessary danger, but this man attacked by father, and I need to know everything I can about him.”

“Why?”

Thea smiles, and it’s shark-like. “So I can destroy him,” she replies.

 

* * *

 

The foundry is dead silent. Felicity is chewing on her lip, eyes shifting between Al Far-Is and the Diggles, then back again. They’re standing there like they’re about to duel at high noon, all clenched jaws and curled fists. It’s kind of awesome, if you ask her; or at least, it would be if their team wasn’t about to implode after less than a week of being together.

“So,” she says, just to fill the silence.

“When I lay down a plan,” barks Al Far-Is, taking a step towards the Diggles, “You had better _follow_ it.” John stays where he is, arms crossed over his chest. Andy takes two steps forward, puffing himself up.

“Or what?” he asks, sneering, “You brought us in to be your muscle, right? Then why don’t you actually let us _use_ our guns?”

“We are new in town,” seethes Al Far-Is, “That means staying beneath the Green Arrow’s radar is our best chance of survival. And _you_ shot that chance in the foot!”

“Okay,” says John, holding his hands up placatingly before his brother can stick his foot farther into his mouth, “Let’s just agree that that didn’t go well and move on, huh?”

“But-“ starts Andy, but John shoots him a look and Andy’s mouth shuts with a click.

“Fine,” spits Al Far-Is, “But next time you do that, I’ll kill you.”

“You can try,” shoots back Andy with a dark look.

“Great,” says Felicity brightly, clapping her hands together, “Now that all the macho bullshit is out of the way, what say we get back to _actually important_ stuff?” The three men in front of her continue to posture for a few moments before Al Far-Is turns, regarding her silently. She has to resist the urge to shiver. She can never get a read on that guy. “So,” she says, “We’re here to kill the guys that killed you, right? Whatever _that_ means.” Al Far-Is doesn’t respond. “So who are these guys?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“… Right,” says Felicity, “That makes this slightly more complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” says Andy, “Did you just say you don’t even know _who_ our targets are?” Al Far-Is says nothing, jaw ticking. “Great,” continues Andy, “Great. What the hell, man.”

“So how do we find them?” asks John.

“We start with Moira Queen,” answers Al Far-Is, “She had a hand in the Undertaking, I’m guessing she knows more about what goes on in this city than she cares to admit.”

“She’s in jail,” Felicity points out, “As fun as a jailbreak would be, that’s _definitely_ not low-key.”

“We don’t need to talk to her,” replies Al Far-Is, “We just need to know what she knows.”

“Queen Mansion,” scoffs John, “You want to rob the Green Arrow.”

“Based on how a relatively simple bank heist went, I don’t think we’re there yet,” says Felicity.

“Agreed,” mutters Al Far-Is, “Which is why we train.” Andy groans and Felicity wrinkles up her nose.

“You mean _you_ train, right?” she asks. “I’m the computer girl. I don’t need training.”

“How much of a little kid would I sound like if I say I don’t _wanna_?” asks Andy, crossing his arms over his chest with what can only be called a pout. John rolls his eyes, says nothing.

“You’re _all_ training,” grunts Al Far-Is, turning and heading for the punching bags. “No exceptions.”

“This is gonna suck,” shouts Felicity after him.

 

* * *

 

It does. It sucks.

Luckily, Al Far-Is mutters something about having other business to attend to, and vanishes after just a few hours.

‘ _Just a few hours’_. Felicity groans, lays down on the ground. How is this her life?

 

* * *

 

Roy starts with the bank. It’s the only real known quantity here. He knows the man in black was here. He knows that he has at least three other people on his team: the two men that robbed the bank with him and a third behind the scenes. He knows that Sara Lance fired off a shot, swears she hit him, but couldn’t find any blood. That tells him that it matters whether or not the man in black’s DNA is found. That tells him he must be in some system somewhere.

He sweeps the bank five times before he admits to himself that there’s no evidence here. Plus, the bank staff is starting to get pissed with him. There’s only so far a P.I. license will really get you.

So he texts Thea to get her location so they can meet up and he can update her. He doesn’t have much, but it’s best to keep her in the loop. They meet at a café down the street from Queen Consolidated. There’s a surprising lack of paparazzi, but then, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. She’s well known for dismantling the careers of anyone that crosses her, two-bit cameramen included. She’s sitting at a table in the corner, legs crossed, a coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other.

Roy slides into the seat across from her. Her eyes flit to him, then back to her tablet. She sips at her coffee, saying nothing for a long time, before finally she taps the screen and sets her tablet down. She turns, tilts her head. “What’ve you got?” she asks.

“Not a lot,” he admits, “I went and took a look around the bank.” One of Thea’s sharp brows raises. Roy explains the situation, his findings (or lack thereof), and what they can take from them.

“What do you need?” she asks, leaning forward, “To catch this guy?”

“I need transparency, for one,” he says, “Keep me as up-to-date as possible on any sightings, any time your dad runs into him.” Queen nods, expression serious. “Secondly, I’m going to try and get a DNA sample of this man in black. I’m going to need access to someone who can run DNA tests.”

“I can arrange that,” she says, tapping a blood red nail on the table. Her mouth twists as she seems to consider something. “Come with me,” she says after a long moment, sliding out of her seat. Roy does, jogging a little bit to catch up to her. She walks fast, heels clicking with a sort of purpose that Roy can admire. They’re headed back towards Queen Consolidated.

Something catches Roy’s eye. He stops where he is, squinting up at one of the buildings across the street. Thea stops a few steps ahead of him, sending him a quizzical look.

“I thought I saw—“ he says, raises a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. “Does anyone else know you hired me, Miss Queen?”

“Thea,” she corrects him, “And no. My father doesn’t even know. Why?”

“Because,” says Roy, “I’m pretty sure you’re being followed.”

 

* * *

 

Al Far-Is swears under his breath, taking a less conspicuous path back to the Foundry. He shouldn’t have followed her. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice – no one _should_ have been able to notice a League-trained assassin. The man with her was skilled. Or at least, very, very perceptive.

Al Far-Is would have to be more careful from now on. Keep an eye on the man with Thea Queen.

 _No_ , he reminds himself, _Leave her be. No personal attachments._

Al Far-Is shoulders his staff, swinging down from a fire escape and onto the ground. He came to this city for a reason, and he cannot cloud that reason with what can only be called lingering affection.

 _Oliver Queen is dead_ , he tells himself,  __repeats it like a mantra. _Oliver Queen is dead. Oliver Queen is dead. Oliver Queen is . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mystery! intrigue! something you already knew framed as a big reveal!
> 
> i can't help it, i'm a drama queen by nature.
> 
> i'm aiming for a weekly update schedule - on wednesdays, to coincide w arrow. we'll see how that plays out lmao.
> 
> let us know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late, and a little short, but it's been quite the week. hopefully the next chapter will have a little bit more to it, but i'm exhausted, so this is where i'm ending this one.
> 
> this week, some discoveries are made and one of my fave minor characters makes her debut
> 
> let us know what you think!

Felicity hums as her fingers click across the keys. She’s sitting on her couch, cross-legged, her laptop balanced on her knees. She reaches over, shakily grabs her mug, and takes a sip. Her nose wrinkles. Her coffee’s gone cold.

The map on her screen is… jumbled, at best. She switches windows, scrolls down a list of locations. Her eyes are starting to hurt from staring at this – and Felicity is basically always behind a screen, so it’s a good bet she’s been working on this too long. But she’s determined.

She leans back against the cushions, her brows knitting together as she glowers at the map she’s spent the past nine hours putting together. She can’t make heads or tails of it.

She’d put a tracker in Al Far-Is’s earpiece. And on one of his knife belts. And in his boots. She’s been compiling this info for a week, trying to get a lead on just who’s hiding under that mask. He spends a sort of sad amount of time in the Foundry. Mostly she can link his locations to heists they’ve pulled, places they’ve been casing, but there’s definitely some unaccounted for variances. She’d write them off as simply random places he’d been, passing through, whatever – if not for the fact that he went to these places like clockwork every day.

She’d tried every algorithm in the book, looking for the connection. Nothing. Given his penchant for hanging out on rooftops, she couldn’t exactly pin down what building he was in, or looking into. She just had basic areas, street names, and nothing that gave her anything solid.

Felicity groans, slaps her laptop closed. She pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut. Dark hair falls over her shoulder as she turns to eye the clock in the kitchen. Three a.m. Of course. Sighing, Felicity stands, setting the computer on the table. She’s so glad to have her technology back. If nothing else, she owes Al Far-Is for that.

But come on. Owing him doesn’t mean she’s gonna sit back and just accept his weird anonymity shit.

They’ve got a heist planned for the morning. Another team-building mission. For a total lone-wolf assassin, Al Far-Is sure is a team player. Felicity kind of hates it, but it’s also – like, vaguely endearing?

Yeah, no, she definitely has been awake too long. Time for bed, Felicity.

 

* * *

 

ARGUS is in a flurry. The man in black and his associates struck again – they made off with millions in jewelry, and no one had even known they were there until they were already gone. Tommy’s been back and forth between his desk and Waller’s office all day. This team was good, and with every job they pulled they only got better, the trail got colder. It was putting Waller in a mood. Tommy couldn’t blame her. It was putting him in a mood, too.

The only person in ARGUS, in fact, that seemed to maintain their cheer, is Tommy’s partner, Carrie. She’s grinning at her computer, and he’s pretty sure she sighed a little dreamily a few minutes prior.

“Cutter,” he says, “What are you so thrilled about? We can’t find hide or hair of this guy.”

“I know,” she says, “I kinda like him.”

“Don’t let Waller hear you say that,” he admonishes. Carrie giggles, clacks her nails against her desk, tosses long red hair over her shoulder.

“Aw, Tommy,” she says, batting her lashes at him, “You _do_ care.” Tommy rolls his eyes, turning back to his work. Their area is silent for a while, but then out of the corner of his eye, Tommy sees Carrie lean forward on her elbows, squinting at her screen.

“You get something?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, chewing on her lip, “I think I’ve seen a uniform like this before.” She stands, whirling on her heel. “I’m gonna go look through the archives,” she calls over her shoulder, “Be a doll and get me a coffee, would you?”

“Cutt- dammit,” mutters Tommy, standing and stretching. He might as well. If she’s found something that’ll help their case, she definitely deserves a coffee. It takes him twenty minutes to get through security and out of the building, but there’s a café not too far – ten blocks, tops – and it’s a nice day. He texts Thea as he walks, sees if she wants to meet him. Ever since the revelation of her parentage, he’s been really trying to be –

Not Oliver, of course, but… Her brother. As best as he knows how.

Her reply is nearly instant.

 _Speedy_  
10:38 a.m.  
>>Be there in 10

Tommy smiles, pockets his phone as he pushes the door to the coffee place open. It’s a decently popular place, so there’s a few people in line, but Tommy doesn’t mind. He’s gotta wait for Thea anyway.

 

* * *

 

Thea wipes her brow, locking her phone with a click. “I’ve gotta go,” she calls, pulling off the other boxing glove. “Tommy wants to get coffee.”

“Tell him I say hi,” says Laurel, smiling brightly as she pulls her water bottle out of her bag. She smiles, and it’s a little smug. “Unless, of course, you didn’t tell him you asked me to teach you how to fight?”

Thea’s responding grin is half apologetic, half mischievous. “He doesn’t need to know,” she insists. “You of all people know how he gets.”

“I do,” confirms Laurel, “It’s called ‘caring’.” Thea rolls her eyes.

“Okay, _mom_ ,” she says with a laugh. Laurel grins, reaches over to ruffle Thea’s hair. Thea pouts, trying to fix her hair. Laurel’s heart swells as Thea giggles. She knows Thea has this reputation in the media, for being cold – one news outlet even called her heartless. Laurel had gone down and had some _stern_ fucking words with them for that one. Thea might not be her sister (not yet, anyway) but Laurel loves her like one.

“More tomorrow?” asks Laurel, pulling her gloves back on.

“You bet,” agrees Thea, winking at Laurel as she heads for the locker room.

She’s dressed and heading towards that café Tommy likes so much within two minutes.

 

* * *

 

Al Far-Is pulls his bike into an alley, rolling to a slow stop as he turns his head to watch Thea walk down the street. She’s going to the café again. She’s been there frequently lately, always to meet with Tommy Merlyn.

Her brother, Tommy Merlyn.

Al Far-Is feels a familiar pull in his chest, and he wheels his bike around. He needs to let this go.

He revs the bike, screeches back out onto the street.

 

* * *

 

 “Tommy!” calls Thea as she walks in the door. Tommy looks up and grins. He stands, chair squeaking as he nearly topples it. A small form crashes into his side.

“Oh my god,” says the woman, as Tommy turns, opening his mouth to apologize. She has coffee all down her front. “Watch where you’re _going_ ,” she seethes, glaring up at him, arms held awkwardly at her sides so as to not get them wet.

“I’m sorry,” says Tommy, face a little pale. The girl is tiny, with dark hair and a darker wardrobe, and all that five foot five rage is now directed at Tommy. “Sorry, let me, um, buy you a new one? And get some napkins.”

“Don’t bother,” she snaps, shoving her now empty coffee into his hands. “Enjoy it.”

“Problem?” asks Thea, voice icy as she steps into the conversation. The woman whirls on her, eyes narrowing, but freezes when she sees who she’s speaking with. Thea… tends to get that reaction.

“No,” replies the woman. Her face is pale (well, paler) and her expression is one of shock and… consideration? She seems to be thinking; Tommy can almost see her fitting puzzle pieces together as she looks into Thea’s eyes. She opens her mouth, eyes wide, and says, “Holy shit,” before turning and practically sprinting out of the café.

“Well,” says Thea dryly, “That was interesting.”

 

* * *

 

Felicity races home. Her heart is pounding in her ears. She slams her door open and doesn’t bother to shut it, throwing herself onto her couch and yanking her computer onto her lap. Her fingers freeze over the keys, though, and she stares wide-eyed at her screen for a moment, gathering herself. Surely it’s not. It can’t be.

She switches tabs, looks at the compiled map. It feels so obvious, now. Queen Consolidated, Thea Queen’s flashy penthouse, Tommy Merlyn’s apartment, the fucking coffee place. He’s following Thea Queen. It all makes sense. It clicks.

Felicity can’t believe it.

She switches back to her internet browser and types, slowly, a name into the search engine: _Oliver Queen_.

 

* * *

 

Back at ARGUS, Tommy is met as soon as he gets off the elevator by his partner. Carrie’s grin is manic, her hair pulled up into a haphazard bun. “I found it,” she says, holding up an old, frayed folder, “The uniform. It’s the _League of Assassins_.”


End file.
